Chapter Twenty-Five #3
“But not one with seniors, like The Golden Bachelor.” He claps his hands. “You could have Bernice be the bachelorette! And call it The Golden Bashert.”
“That is kinda cute,” I admit.
“And Zevi could produce it.” I can’t quite recall seeing Jack this excited about anything. “Don’t you see how this could save your company? You’d be famous and you wouldn’t need to worry about finding Caleb a match!”
“But isn’t Zevi already working on a reality dating show?”
“Yes, and it’s been shortening his lifespan. All these twenty-something divas with their petty demands and tantrums are driving him to the breaking point.”
“Really?” I say feeling guilty that I didn’t know. “I didn’t realize that.”
“He doesn’t like to worry you. But this is the perfect solution for both of you!”
A frisson of excitement runs through me, even as I warn myself not to get too excited. Projects can take years in television and even then, still fall apart. “Thanks, Jack.”
“Good morning,” Miri calls out cheerily, already dressed for the day in a black and white knit sweater two-piece. “What are we eating for breakfast?”
“Muffins, babka, cereal,” Jack says, taking an apple from the fruit bowl.
Sissel glances around the table. “So, who’s coming to shul with me?”
“Will Rocco be there?” Jack asks, peering at us with interest over his mug.
I shake my head. “I think Caleb said he’s guarding Adath Israel this week. But Casanova will be.”
“Never mind.” Jack shudders. “I’ll stay home.”
“Be the strong, confident man that I know is inside of you,” Miri says.
“He treated me like I was a criminal!” Jack exclaims.
“What did he do?” I ask, taking a sip of coffee.
“He interrogated me for like twenty minutes,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Was that the time you wore the plaid suit jacket and gold lamé tie?” Sissel asks. “Because anyone would look suspicious in that.”
“First of all, don’t get me started on your fashion choices, Sissel. And second of all,” he mutters, frowning into his mug, “yes it was.”
We cackle with laughter.
“If it makes you feel better,” Miri says, “he body-searched Mrs. Weinstein last week because she refused to take her hands out of her pockets.”
“She’s still alive?” Sissel says, looking surprised. “I thought I went to her funeral a few months ago.”
“How do you not know whose funeral you were at?” Miri says.
Sissel shrugs. “Names are hard. Anyway,” she continues, unbothered, “are either of you coming?” She looks between Miri and me.
“Nah,” I say, glancing out the kitchen window as I rinse out my mug. “I think I’ll stay here and cuddle up with a blanket and a good book.”
“I have to go, unfortunately.” Miri sighs. “My cousins are in town and I told them I’d meet them there.”
“Wait—” I turn around to face her. “Do you mean the hilarious twins?” I ask, perking up.
Miri nods. “They’re trying to figure out whether to relocate here or Chicago for the time being.”
My eyes light up. “For dating purposes?”
“Probably. There’s a definite drought of Jewish men in Oklahoma. But don’t get your hopes up. The bossy one is insisting on Chicago.”
“But she hasn’t met Caleb yet.” I grin.
Jack tilts his head at me in confusion. “Didn’t you say a minute ago that you wanted to rehabilitate him before you release him back into the dating jungle?”
“Yes, but this is different because I’m not going to make an introduction. He won’t have the opportunity to open his mouth. I’ll just point to him from across the room, and when they see the kind of hunks I have in my database, they’ll totally want to move here and become my clients!”
“Huge stretch,” Sissel says.
Jack nods. “I have to agree with her.”
“Don’t leave without me!” I call out to Sissel over my shoulder.
I dress in record timing, but when I return, Jack does a double take when he sees me.
It’s followed by a slow up and down perusal as I grow increasingly unsettled.
Finally, he says, “You look like an Orthodox Jewish dominatrix about to get her kink on at synagogue.”
I frown and gaze down at myself. He must be exaggerating. “Is it the boots?” I ask, examining the high-heeled lace-ups that reach my knees.
“Yes,” he nods. “And the neck chains.”
“It’s called a choker,” I say defensively. “It just happens to be attached to the dress.”
“Yes, Ashira. That’s what makes it a neck chain.” He circles around me. “And it’s the leather bodycon too.”
“It’s not a bodycon,” I say, turning to examine myself in the full-length mirror in the foyer. “It’s . . . it’s . . .” Oh crap. He’s right. This is what happens when you buy something without trying it on first.
“It’s very Kim Kardashian,” Jack finishes. “Don’t worry,” he says when he catches my facial expression, “you’ve got the perfect butt for it.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I whimper. What am I going to do? I can’t wear the dress I wore last night because Miri spilled wine on it and it’s not like I can raid Caleb’s closet for a dress. And Sissel and Miri are about two heads shorter than I am. I’m totally screwed.
Sissel enters the foyer, takes one look at me, and says, “I like your S and M dress.”
“It’s not a—”
“Where’s the whip?” she asks, and I glare at her.
Jack turns to me. “I have a sweater you can wear, if you want. It’s long enough that it should cover your butt.”
And that is how I end up going to shul in a black zip-up sweater with a rainbow heart that says:
Gay and Catholic
& hella charismatic
Which is also why I decide to keep my coat on.
Miri, Sissel, and I make it to shul by 10.15. Casanova stands in front of the entrance, wearing aviator sunglasses and a brown leather bomber jacket.
“Good morning, Casanova.” Miri waves and grins. “I like your sunglasses.”
His cool expression implies he doesn’t appreciate the compliment. He tilts his head to the other bodyguard to signal the okay to punch in the security code and open the door for us.
The musaf prayer is coming to a close as we find empty seats toward the back of the women’s sections. I spy Mrs. Schwartz in the front row, flanked by her daughters. So, that’s great.
Three rows ahead and to the right of us, I catch a glimpse of the identical twins’ long, shiny russet-brown hair.
Three other young women are with them and I almost rub my hands in glee like an evil Disney villain.
Putting Caleb aside, I’m sure I could entice Bruce or any other number of men with them.
I glance up and spot Caleb through the partition that separates the men and women.
The mechitzah is supposed to prevent the two genders from getting distracted from each other in order to focus on praying, but trust me when I say that it has little effect on the congregants whom these guidelines were created for.
Specifically, a certain Mrs. Aaronson, whose creative excuses to open the door of the men’s section and arch her back provocatively while trying to summon her husband, are enough to fill up an entire Talmud.
Or Mr. Gordstein who spends more time in the women’s section than the men’s, then circulates among the women during kiddish, offering them bites of cholent from his plate.
It raises so many questions, but mainly, did his wife know about his cholent kink before they got married?
After the gabbai makes the usual announcements, everyone heads to the back of the room where a long buffet table is filled with herring, kugel, cholent, crackers, and dessert.
The room goes silent as the Rav recites Kiddush, the blessing of the wine, and then the people dig in.
Or swarm in, rather, in a similar style of vultures on the discovery of a fresh corpse.
“How are you doing, Ashira?”
I turn and find Mrs. Pinto, one of Mrs. Schwartz’s best friends. My guard instantly goes up, but I’m careful to keep my face neutral. “I’m fine, thank G-d. Never better. How are you?”
“Baruch Hashem.” She smiles. “How’s the matchmaking going?”
“Amazing.” If she thinks she can get a rise out of me, she better think again.
She lays a skinny hand on my wrist. “I’ve been praying for you.”
“Really? How sweet.” I beam and lay my other hand over her wrist and squeeze. “And I have been praying for you. Unfortunately,” I sigh, dropping my hands, “He said no.”
“Who did?”
“G-d.”
She blinks rapidly, looking unsure. “About me?”
“Yes. But don’t worry,” I add. “I’ll keep trying.”
She narrows her eyes at me, then turns to go.
“Good Shabbos, Mrs. Pinto!” I call out, and she bats her hand at me dismissively.
“Hey Ash,” Miri says, approaching. “Zevi wants you to know that we’re leaving in five minutes.”
“But I can’t leave,” I reply. “I didn’t get to talk to your cousins yet. I need to dangle Caleb in front of them.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, pointing toward the area between the praying section and the kitchen. “They found him on their own.”
“But—” I stare. The twins are laughing as Caleb talks, and I can tell they’re blushing all the way from here. “But—”
“What?”
“Look at him.” I flick my hand in his direction. “He’s charming them.”
She nods, glancing over her shoulder at them. “I’m starting to worry they’re both going to want to date him.”
“What are they even talking about?” I ask, unable to stop staring.
“I think they’re asking about his time in the military.”
“He’s telling them his military stories?”
She stares at me for a long moment. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because you’re sending legit death stares to my cousins.”
“They won’t notice anyway, they’re too busy flirting.”
Miri smacks my arm. “Are you jealous?”
“No!” I whirl to face her. “Of course not. No,” I say firmly. “I’m just annoyed that he can act completely normal with the wrong women.”
“How are they wrong?”
“They’re young and silly and . . .” I struggle for other adjectives. “Young.”
“You already said that, and you’re the one who set him up with a twenty-one-year-old. Remember Rivka?”
“She was very mature for her age,” I mutter and cross my arms.
“Maybe he prefers someone who’s immature. Maybe the type of woman you’re setting him up with isn’t what he wants.”
“Do you think so?” I frown thoughtfully.
“Couldn’t hurt to ask.”
And the very next day, that’s exactly what I do.